Rider
by Umodin
Summary: Brom was ready to die, he'd been away from his Saphira for far too long. When he closed his eyes and breathed his last breath, he expected that he would return to the earth. Instead, he finds himself an infant named Brom Waters, bastard son of King Aerys Targaryen.


In the year 279 AC in the halls of the Red Keep, the great castle that was built by the Targaryen kings Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel, King Aerys II Targaryen scowled at the open window; a raven was heading south with a letter and his stamp. He slammed his hands down onto the wooden desk and threw his inkwell at the red stone wall of his quarters.

Aerys had known rage before. When his father forced him to marry his sister, Rhaella, on the word of a woods witch, he knew rage. When Rhaella continued to produce broken children, either born dead or dying soon after, he knew rage. When he heard whispers from Ser Illyn Payne that Tywin Lannister, his Hand of the King, was the true power of the crown, Aerys knew rage.

And now, upon signing the parchment, Aerys felt great rage.

His son, Prince Rhaegar I Targaryen, was now betrothed to Elia Nymeros Martell.

Only a year prior, Aerys had sent his cousin and confidant Lord Steffon Baratheon to the Free Cities in search of a Valyrian woman of noble birth to wed his son. Months passed, and as they did the Lord of Storms End would continue to send letters to Aerys each time he made way to a different city. He started in Lorath, then made way to Braavos, and on and on he went, until ending in Volantis. Aerys had high hopes for Volantis; behind its great walls held the largest amalgamation of Valyrian culture in the known world. But they would not open their doors for Steffon, regardless of his being the son of Princess Rhaelle Targaryen, Aerys' aunt, due to his coloration. The Baratheon blood was strong, as expected since Orys Baratheon was King Aegon I's half-brother, and their children strongly held their features of black hair, blue eyes and large builds.

Steffon did not have any daughters, else Aerys would have allowed a match between one and Rhaegar; and the House that had the closest connection to the Valyrian Freehold through blood and had a daughter of a marriageable were the Martells. Elia Martell was only a year Rhaegars elder, and had had her first blood near a year ago.

Aerys found his anger boiling once more; this was Rhaella's fault. She did not bare him a daughter for Rhaegar to wed; even if the girl was Viserys age of a single name-day he would have paired the two.

The blood of his ancestors needed to be pure, and that meant joining with the Martells once more; this time giving them power.

Aerys hated sharing power more than he hated the thought of Rhaegar's betrothal. He was the _King!_ Power was his to use as he saw fit, and sharing his power made him weaker.

Weakness would lead to his ruin, which would then lead to the end of House Targaryen.

The very _thought_ of weakness led Aerys into a new form of anger, one that he knew would only be settled with passion; his fire needed to be fueled.

"Ser Jonothor!" Aerys yelled.

The door to his room opened not a moment later, revealing the form of Ser Jonothor Darry; one of Aerys Kingsguard. He was a tall man, with brown hair, green eyes and thick arms covered in silver armor bearing the crest of House Targaryen.

"Yes your grace?" Ser Jonothor asked plainly, looking at the stain of ink on the wall of Aerys room.

"Where is my queen?" demanded Aerys.

"Queen Rhaella is with Prince Viserys, your grace."

Aerys paused. Viserys was a young boy, and even in his state of anger Aerys knew that it would be an unwise decision to take Rhaella while she was with him.

But what to do…

"Ser Jonother," Aerys said. "Find me a young kitchen wench and bring her to me."

The Kingsguard bowed deeply and left the room not a moment later. Aerys found himself staring out his window and looking over the roofs of Kings Landing. The city was large, his ancestors clearly had a vision, and yet it smelled of shit and piss. Aerys had wanted to burn the smell away, just as one would do to an enemy; but Tywin counseled him against such an act. _The people will think you craven_ he said, _and a craven king is a fruit ripe for the picking._

The door to his room opened once more; Ser Jonother and a girl walked in. She was a pretty thing with long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, fair skin and a budding chest. She looked to be five and ten.

She would do.

"Leave us." Aerys said, looking directly at Ser Jonother as he spoke. The Kingsguard did as commanded and left the room, closing the heavy door behind him.

Aerys stood, his long silver hair flowing with his movements, and he circled the girl. "Tell me girl, what is your name?"

"N-Neida, your grace." She stuttered, her voice high like a child, increasing Aerys desire further.

"No family name?" Aerys pressed.

"N-No your grace, I'm a Waters; a bastard."

Aerys licked at his lips, "Neida then. My wife is with my son, Viserys, and so couldn't perform her duty to me."

She looked wide eyed, and her stutter became even more pronounced as she demurely spoke, "D-dut-ty? Yo-your grace?"

He stopped circling her and stood directly in her face, cupping her chin roughly.

"As my bed warmer."

She didn't have the chance to protest as he tore at her cloths and freed her growing breasts from their confinement. She screamed and Aerys put his hand against her mouth; he was the dragon and the dragon had chosen his conquest. He threw her against his bed covered in silks of red and black and tore at the rest of her clothes whilst she resisted. He loved it when they fought; it made him feel even more like a king when he could do as he pleased to his subjects.

She flailed, screaming and fighting, and Aerys didn't give her the chance to protest further. He released his cock from his robe and slammed it into her dry cunt without waiting. He felt a barrier break and grinned broadly as Neida screamed once more, this time in pain; he had always had a fondness for virgins.

Neida stopped flailing and put her hands to her face, failing to dry her freshly falling tears as Aerys had his way with her. He fucked her like a dog took a bitch, and there was naught but silent whimpers and the sounds of flesh slapping flesh amidst the king's quarters.

Finally after what seemed like an hour he let his seed loose inside her bloodied cunt. She was weeping without reservation, crying like a babe, and Aerys allowed it.

Aerys moved then, his cock falling out of her cunt covered in his seed and her blood. He fixed his robe and made way back to his desk, grabbing a new inkwell and parchment.

"Return to your duties then." Aerys said blandly, his fire quenched and his duty as king taking over; he had to write a letter of rejection for Twyin's daughter.

Neida covered her body as best she could with her torn cloths, her crying turned to sniffling, and hastily made her way out of the room without closing the door. Aerys briefly considered having her flogged for not doing so, but Ser Jonother seemed to have been standing guard and closed it for her, so Aerys allowed such a thought to pass without acting on it.

For he was a merciful king.

* * *

Ser Jonother Darry liked to think he was a good man. He served House Targaryen loyally, did not question his king, and protected the royal family well. Rhaegar Targaryen had been wed to Elia Martell just last night, and Jonother knew that the royal family would be growing soon.

And yet, staring at the girl in front of him, he knew that he was not a truly good man.

Neida Waters cleaned at the tables of the Throne Room with a strong arm and a swollen belly. Five months it had been since King Aerys raped the girl, and his lust had born fruit in the form of a bastard child. The King had already had two bastards, a pair of girls Jonother remembered, and both were sent to Dragonstone with their mothers.

And both were killed weeks later and their mothers burned at the stake for _daring to sully House Targaryen_.

Jonother felt a sense of responsibility for this girl; he was the one to bring her to King Aerys after all. He did not want her to die, she did not _need_ to die; and if she were to die he would not want her to do so by way of pyre. Yet, he couldn't protect her. The moment she gave birth Aerys would know and Jonother could not go against his king; his oath did not allow it, and Ser Jonother Darry was a man of his word.

And so, Jonother knew what he had to do.

He walked up to Neida, grabbed her by the shoulder, and led her to the guest quarters.

She glared and spat at his armor, "Does the king want another _service?!_ " she hissed in defiance and fear.

Jonother shook his head, his grip on her shoulder tightening as did the muscles in his jaw, "King Aerys has not called for you."

"Then let me go."

"I cannot."

She struggled, but Jonother had a much stronger grip and body than his king could ever have. She let out a deplorable sigh and stared off into nothing as Jonother dragged her through the halls of the Red Keep.

They walked in silence; the only sounds came from the markets of Kings Landing and the morning songbirds. Jonother found his way to one of the many guest chambers of the Red Keep and loudly knocked on the door.

"Come in." a male voice said.

Jonother did just that, opening the large door and bringing Neida inside. The room was grand, with walls covered in linens and a bed so large it wouldn't fit in a wagon. On the bed lay a man with olive skin, black hair and grey green eyes. He sat upright with a cup of wine in one hand and a book in the other.

Prince Doran Martell.

The Prince of Dorne and his younger brother Oberyn had been the only members of House Nymeros Martell to travel to Kings Landing. His daughter Arianne was too young to travel and his wife Lady Mellario of Norvos was heavy with child. The young Prince Oberyn was likely in one of Kings Landings many brothels if his reputation was to be believed.

"And what can I do for you, Ser Jonother?" the Prince of Dorne asked simply.

Jonother inhaled and exhaled slowly, "If I may be so bold to ask, when will you and your entourage be leaving Kings Landing, Prince Doran?"

"Later in the day, my wife is soon to birth my son and I intend to be there. Why?" Doran asked calmly, taking a sip from his cup and placing his book down.

"I would ask that you bring this woman with you." Jonother said, earning a hum from Prince Doran and a wide eyed stare from Neida. "She is talented in the kitchens and is a good cleaner."

"I have cooks and cleaners in Sunspear. Why do you ask this of me?" Prince Doran was still humming; he even had his eyes closed as he did so. Jonother found the action to be off-putting.

Jonother closed his eyes tightly. He had never been good at lying, it was why he was overshadowed by his younger brother for Castle Darry, and he knew that Doran would catch a lie from his mouth. "She carries the bastard of King Aerys."

Doran nodded slowly, turning his attention from the Kingsguard to Neida herself, "Your name?"

"Neida Waters, my lord." She announced.

"And why, Neida Waters, do you wish to leave? You work the kitchens of the Red Keep so you want not for food or shelter, and you carry the child of the king; surely that means you have his favor-"

"Pardon, my lord, but having his favor is not something I wish for."

Doran seemed more amused than anything by the interruption, "And why is that?"

Neida looked him straight in the eye and spoke the harsh truth, "He raped me."

Jonother found himself respecting her further. To look a Lord Paramount in the eye in such a way took more courage than most women had; especially for one that was lowborn.

Doran closed his eyes and sipped at his wine once more. He then became silent; the room itself was completely devoid of any sound save for a few birds.

"Ser Jonother," Doran said, breaking the drawn out silence. "I have heard that you saved my Uncle Lewyn once before, is this true?"

Jonother nodded quickly, "I did indeed, bandits made an attempt on Prince Rhaegar when the pair of us, along with Ser Barristan, were escorting him out of the city. One was able to stab Lewyn in the leg by sheer luck, and I cut the man down as he meant to finish off Lewyn."

Prince Doran hummed once more before speaking clearly, "Then I shall call this a debt paid. Neida Waters will return with me to Sunspear and become my son's wet-nurse."

* * *

Prince Doran watched the body of Neida Waters burn with a blank face. Birthing difficulties, a terrible way for any woman to die; for it meant that she would never know the life she gave hers for.

He looked at the milkmaid that held her babe. It was a boy with the silver hair of his father and his mother's blue eyes. She named him Brom Waters, though his being born in Dorne meant that he should have been named Sand; Doran chose to ignore this detail. He had a peculiar birth mark on his left palm that looked to be the head and neck of a curled dragon. Oberyn joked that it was a snake, not a dragon.

Doran knew that Elia was with child, she had sent a raven only a week ago informing him of such. It was too early to know if she would birth a boy or girl, but Brom would share blood with the child either way. Bastards had gone far before in Dorne, and bastards with kings blood had gone even farther.

He made his choice as he watched the pyre. He had the blood, and his mother was the fire. Fire and Blood. Brom Waters would be the shield and sword of the children of Elia Martell.

He would become Kingsguard and protect the Targaryen Martell reign.

* * *

 **A/N: Sup y'all? It's Umodin, here once again with a ficlet idea that might turn into something larger. So, I've been reading the Inheritance Cycle lately and my favorite character of the story is Brom. I didn't like how he died though, and then this idea came to mind. With the end of GoT S6, which was absolutely stunning mind you, and my current reading of the Inheritance Cycle, I decided to try and combine the two.**

 **In this case, I made it so Brom was reborn into the world as Brom Waters, bastard son of the Mad King Aerys II Targaryen. It's a little out there, but it's fanfiction and that means I can do stuff like that. Everybody loves a good cliché after all.**

 **Now, when I say that Brom is being reborn, I don't mean that to be exactly true. Brom Waters is** ** _not_** **Brom of the Varden because that would just be sad. Brom of the Varden was over a century old and was ready to die, living again without purpose would just be cruel in his and my mind. Brom Waters will share his features with Brom of the Varden, and while he won't be that Brom he** ** _will_** **have random bursts of memories and personality traits from the man.**

 **Like I said, it's a ficlet that may or may not become a legit thing; I'm not certain how I want it to go as of yet.**

 **If you liked this, please Foavirte/Follow and don't forget to Review.**


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